The Department of Arcane Paranormal Happenings
by Dragon Silhouette
Summary: The Department of Arcane Paranormal Happenings dealt with the side of the world that most people had no idea about; the one where people with superpowers abound, fighting strange creatures that could have leapt off the pages of a fantasy book... Arthur Kirkland had no idea what he was getting into when he took that "promotion". [main UKCan, other side pairings]
1. Mission Failed, Here's Your Promotion!

Thanks to **Tortugas-and-Lovi** for making this chapter much more enjoyable to read :)

**summary:** The Department of Arcane Paranormal Happenings (APH) deals with the other side of the world; the one that most people have no idea about. Where people with superpowers abound, fighting strange creatures that could have leapt off the pages of a fantasy book. When Arthur Kirkland was "promoted" from his normal job in the Special Operations department of MI6 into the mysterious APH, he had no idea what he was getting into.  
[**pairings undecided**]

**disclaimer:** Let's not be stupid, guys.

**warnings:** Clichés. Lots of 'em. Mostly of the spy kind. Oh! And language and gender-bending and bad writing. Can't forget those.

* * *

**Chapter 1  
Mission Failed, Here's Your Promotion! **

* * *

"Fuck."

Arthur Kirkland sped up his motorcycle, driving wildly through what seemed to be the busiest street in India while dodging bullets blowing past his ear every two seconds. If that stupid French frog hadn't distracted him -

"Eek!" One of the bullets had nearly hit him this time!

"Bloody hell!" he cursed and veered sharply to the left, almost running over an Indian woman and her child. The engine sputtered. Not good. That meant he was running out of gas. Damn it!

Clunk! The twenty-two year old skidded to the right after hitting the curb. He narrowly missed a bearded man and his cow, ran over a muddy puddle, and happened upon a mercifully empty street. He glanced down for a moment to check the motor - which was still intact despite all of the bullets it had taken. He silently thanked whoever made the vehicle for making the thing bulletproof.

Arthur glanced back and, seeing no more black motorcycles chasing him, slowed down. He parked the motorcycle in an alley and quickly surveyed the area. No visible threats. Looks like he actually managed to lose the dumbasses. Smirking, he dipped into his pocket for a phone and booked a passage for a trip back to London under a fake name. After that, he threw it down and crushed it with his foot. One could never be too cautious. At least, not one in his line of business.

This mission was still not over.

A brown-skinned faerie with long, braided dark hair flew into his line of vision and started gesturing wildly at something behind the Brit. Two buildings over, a crouching man locked onto his target.

"Aake mere desi bund chaat."

Arthur's hand, moving on its own accord and pointed at the sniper. "Get him."

The faerie obeyed.

Arthur wasn't worried. He nonchalantly dodged the bullet and took out another phone to call his boss with. "Sir," he said respectfully after the dial tone stopped. He could hear distantly the sniper's screeching as an invisible menace clawed out his eyes. Poor chap. Faeries were terrifying when one of their own was threatened.

"Kirkland?" his boss prompted.

"I have it."

He was painfully conscious of the tiny flash drive dangling on a chain necklace, hidden underneath his shirt. That tiny piece of technology contained information that could destroy the lives of approximately five hundred thousand people in India.

Interestingly enough, it also contained information one of the most notorious criminal organizations in the world. What it was doing in a flash drive, Arthur had no idea, but he wasn't about to complain. It made his mission so much easier. Really, aside from being chased and the unbearable heat, it wasn't too bad of a mission. It was better than the last one, at least. Actually, it would have been perfect if it weren't for that French bastard trying to grope him and catching the attention of the guards, resulting in the aforementioned chase and the near-murder of several Indian citizens.

But at least he got to kick the pervert in the balls. That was something.

"Kirkland!"

"Oh!" Arthur started. "Ah, my apologies." Not really. His boss tended to ramble, although he had been trying to curb that habit lately. Who could blame him for allowing his attention to wander?

"I shall assume that you have not been listening and repeat everything once again," his boss said dryly. "Return ASAP." Flight, check. "Make sure it is not stolen." Paranoia at its peak, check. "Meet me in my office right after you drop off the flash drive to Harris."

"Yes, sir."

His boss hung up.

* * *

Arthur walked through the crowds at Heathrow, absently listening to a faerie gushing about her recent crush on this "totally hot prince" and that "his wings are as gorgeous as the star-strewn sky" and how "his silver eyes just makes me want to swoon". He dragged his small suitcase behind him, accidentally bumping into a harried-looking man. "I'm sorry!" Arthur said quickly.

"Quite alright," the man responded. The man seemed vaguely familiar, and his hair especially struck a chord. It was blond, about shoulder length. His eyes were blue. But he didn't have time to worry about that.

He exited through the sliding doors, called a taxi, and gave the driver the address to a shop two blocks away from the MI6 headquarters. It was in the poorer sections of the city (for security reasons). Trash lined the streets. Suspicious-looking people peeked from behind windows and newspapers. A stray cat looked up from its meal of fried chicken to narrow its eyes at the taxi.

Arthur kept his eyes forward.

When he arrived to his destination, he walked down the street and into a dark, nondescript apartment building. It was made out of concrete, it's windows with blinds shut tight so that no one could see. Whoever built the building did not bother painting the drab, grey walls. He pushed open the doors, went up to the "out of service" elevator and pressed his hand against a small, inconspicuous metal square on the wall. Exactly forty-one seconds later, the elevator quietly opened and Arthur entered. The elevator closed. The young agent pressed the buttons for the second, seventh, fourth, fifth, and third floor - in that order. Soon enough, the doors were sliding open, and he was deep underground in one of MI6's most secretive departments.

Most of the people milling around nodded to Arthur, who nodded back. There was Miller, and Wright, and Moore, and Johnson, and -

"Kirkland!" Harris, a fifty-three year old veteran who had fought in the Second World War, shot out from nowhere and hugged the blond tightly. "Kirkland! I missed you!"

Arthur resisted the urge to swear. Harris was his superior, after all. According to rumours, Harris used to be cold and serious before he lost all of his friends and lovers during the Blitz. He never got the chance to tell them he cared. And so, to prevent something like that from ever happening again, Harris expressed his affection and fondness to everyone openly and, in some cases, disturbingly.

There was a reason why Harris's only living relative never felt comfortable around the man.

As if sensing his discomfort, Harris leaned back and gave the agent some space. "Haha, sorry Kirkland." He patted his self-proclaimed friend on the back. "So where's the thingy?"

Arthur rolled his eyes (discreetly). He grabbed his neck…

And then he froze.

His hand clutched at the fabric of his shirt.

"_I'm sorry!"_

"_Quite alright."_

The harried-looking man. He was blond. He had blue eyes.

And he had a French accent.

"That cheese-eating surrender monkey."

* * *

"YOU LOST THE FLASH DRIVE!"

His boss was not a happy camper.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but his boss beat him to it.

"AND TO THE FRENCH! MY GOD, ARTHUR, I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN THAT!"

As much as he wanted to interrupt, Arthur kept his mouth shut. His boss was not a man to be trifled with when pissed.

The man paced back and forth, spewing rather creative insults directed towards Arthur and the "intelligence agency run by cheese-eating surrender monkeys".

Arthur was thinking. The French man. Yes. He was the same one that tried to grope him during his mission. He must have been trying to steal the flash drive back then, too. What was his name? Pierre something-or-other -

" - transfer you into another department - "

"What?!" Arthur's head shot up, eyes wide.

"Calm yourself, Kirkland," his boss - rather, his soon-to-be-ex-boss - commanded. He seemed to have cooled down. "It's a promotion. Of a sort."

That made even less sense.

"This department have had their eyes on you for a while now. Ever since you started your work, really. You are amongst our youngest agents, entering at a record of eighteen years old. Frankly, if it didn't run in your family, we would have refused; told you to go to university and get a degree. Now that I think about it, it was because of your brothers - "

Arthur coughed politely. He didn't exactly enjoy discussing his family.

"Right. You are being transferred to the Department of Arcane Paranormal Happenings."

The young agent stared at his boss blankly. He had no idea what that was.

"Honestly, I'm not too fond of this department," he continued. "Too many odd people, and the head of the department is a twat - but we're not here to discuss my opinion about that blockhead. His father is a smart man, and he has literally never been wrong about anything. But still, making that boy the head at _age seventeen_, that has got to be the stupidest thing anyone can do. Then again, the boy has been doing well so far - "

Arthur coughed politely again.

"My apologies. The Department of Arcane Paranormal Happenings deals with… well, arcane paranormal happenings." His boss frowned. "And… they mentioned another thing… You have... special powers?"

The bushy-browed agent stiffened. He had never mentioned his ability to anyone except his brothers. If you could even call being able to see faeries a special power.

"They told me that you can see things that cannot be seen by anyone else." His boss's frown deepened. "Now, Arthur, you seem like a good lad to me, and you have never seemed odd other than the occasional lapses of attention - which I shall now attribute to you seeing 'things that cannot be seen by anyone else'. So I have to warn you… That department, due to its nature, is extremely dangerous. The agents there deal with things that normal people cannot possibly imagine existing in real life. I once met a former agent of the APH department… He looked like he had been mauled by a bear a thousand times over, even though it must have been thirty years since he retired…" His boss shook his head. "Be careful, Kirkland."

* * *

**Translations:**

Aake mere desi bund chaat (Punjabi)- Kiss my brown ass [no offence to anyone]

* * *

Sorry if Arthur was OOC. I'm not used to writing him, and I don't know how to speak like an English person. It'll get better (hopefully) when the canon characters are introduced. All OCs are either only there for a few chapters, or destined for death.  
I'm open to **suggestions for pairings**. I have a few set in my mind, but I don't mind seeing what you guys think~

This plot bunny was driving me crazy, so I gave in to my desires and wrote... this. And it's been a long time since I wrote anything fiction. And I'm procrastinating on my work. /shot

I shall wait patiently for the one review this will lure. Come to me, my pretty...


	2. Welcome, Francis Bonnefoy!

Thanks to **Tortugas-and-Lovi** for editing this chapter~!

**disclaimer:** lol you're funny.

**warnings:** clichés, language, bad writing, and fail!use of British slang.

* * *

**Chapter 2**  
**Welcome, Francis Bonnefoy!**

* * *

_Kirkland,_

_I sneaked this into the file. Am I clever or what?_

_I heard you transferred to the APH department. Why anyone (especially you) would want to do that, I don't know, but good luck all the same. It's really wild in there. And violent. Last year, I visited their headquarters (I lost a bet to Brandon) and met the head. I believe his name is Alfred Jones. He must be 21 now. Anyway, he's a good chap, a bit annoying, but his heart's in the right place._

_He let me borrow his bulletproof jacket when he heard that I was going to bust a gang that sold guns and bombs ("You never know!" he said), and I… sort of forgot to give it back._

_Do me a favour and return it to him, will you? _

_-John Harris_

* * *

According to the file he had been given, the headquarters of the Department of Arcane Paranormal Happenings was inside a toy shop. A toy shop filled with screaming kids, stressed parents, and happy music that just served to make everything even louder.

Arthur did not like toy shops for these exact reasons.

His usual entourage of faeries, while fond of children, did not like toy shops either. The blinking lights, loud clamour, and child-sized obstacles agitated their sensitive eyes and ears and made it hard to fly around. But alas, this was where he was going to work from now on. Well, not in the toy shop, but he had to pass through the toy shop to get to his workplace. Joy.

Arthur's eye twitched. His grip on the leather bomber jacket he was holding onto tightened. Five minutes inside and so far he had been pushed, prodded, tripped over, and hit by a remote-controlled helicopter. Five minutes inside, and his sanity was threatening to break. He'd take a lethal chase through India over _this_ any day.

A faerie swooped down and happily rode on a mini ferris wheel for about four seconds until it was thrown off when a freckled girl snatched the toy and shook it at her parents, begging them to buy it. Arthur resisted a smirk.

"Hey, old man!" He looked down and saw a blond boy of six tugged at his pant leg, "You're blocking the choo-choo train!"

"I'm sorry, you little bra - little boy."

The boy sniffed haughtily and stomped away.

"Excuse me, sir." A young couple was waving a hand in front of him, holding a crying baby screaming gibberish. "Do you know where the stuffed toys are?" Arthur pointed at a sign up above that said "Stuffed Toys" with an arrow pointing to the right. Unfortunately, other parents saw this and assumed that he was a staff member and started asking him for directions while a fucking map of the store stood innocently _right beside _the Englishman_. _Dammit, he was an MI6 agent! He was supposed to be dodging bullets and foiling terrorist attacks, not standing in a toy shop pointing out the obvious to ignorant parents!

A handed landed on his shoulder. "Ve~"

"Hell!" Ignoring the parents' dark looks, Arthur instinctively wrapped a vice-like hand around the thin wrist. He then brought the stranger around and was about to bring out his totally awesome martial arts skills -

"Ve! I - I like Puffin Pops!"

Arthur paused. "The he - What are you talking about?"

A brown-haired Italian girl, scared shitless and waving a white handkerchief, shook and cried, "I like Puffin Pops!"

Oh. The password. Arthur searched his head for what he was supposed to say. Something about hamburgers... "Hamburgers will one day rule the world." He released the Italian woman's wrist, suddenly feeling very stupid and very guilty. He didn't mean to grab her that hard. Hurting women was unacceptable, and if he wasn't careful, he might turn into one of those ruffians he once saw while on a mission in Egypt, tormenting a poor lass and -

"Ve~ I'm sorry for startling you." The Italian rubbed her wrist and smiled at Arthur. "You must be Arthur Kirkland."

"Ah, yes," Arthur replied awkwardly. The woman's wrist was bruised darkly, and his guilt spiked to uncomfortable levels. "I'm terribly sorry for grabbing your wrist like that..." he trailed off.

The Italian's hands were glowing slightly. Slowly, the bruise disappeared, leaving the skin as good as new. She must be one of those people with special powers. So hers was... healing?

"Ve, my name is Feliciana Vargas. Please come with me, Mr. Kirkland. The others are waiting~!" Unsure of what that meant, the blonde man followed the suddenly peppy Italian to a wooden door tucked away in a corner of the store. The plaque read: _Authorised Personnel Only_.

Feliciana hummed a song as she unlocked the door with a strange-looking key and entered, letting the Brit enter first before closing the door behind her. The room they went into looked like a storage room, small and dimly lit by a single flickering bulb hanging on a string. Cement walls lined the sides, no windows in sight. Dusty boxes and random toy parts were scattered throughout the room. A deflated soccer ball here, the head of a stuffed monkey there…

"Watch carefully, Mr. Kirkland." Feliciana was leaning over a broken computer keyboard lying on top of a disturbing clown painting. "This is the password. Remember, all caps!" She typed in, "WATCH OUT, GUYS! THERE BE WEIRD PEOPLE BEYOND THIS POINT".

Arthur frowned. "What - "

Two big boxes pushed against each other slid apart from the wall, revealing an elevator of a sort. Hand railings were bolted to the sides, and the smell of Chinese food wafted into the storage room. "Ve~ Yuan must've cooked today! Let's go, Mr. Kirkland!" Feliciana skipped inside, beckoning for the blonde to follow.

Once he got inside, Feliciana let go of the blue button she had been pressing. The boxes, which had metal backs like real elevator doors, slid back together. His faeries, who had been quietly trailing him, rushed to get inside. Feliciana stated clearly, "Feliciana Vargas, pasta is the food of God, ve~"

And then they started moving.

Feliciana explained to Arthur, "To get to the HQ, you need to state your name and your personal password. Sakura will record your voice and your password later, ve~"

One of the faeries tittered.

"Hush," Arthur hissed.

"Ve?"

"Not you," he mumbled, blushing. He always got strange looks whenever he talked to his faeries.

"It's your power, isn't it? You can see and befriend faeries?"

Arthur looked at the Italian in surprise.

"Ve~ we have been watching you for a while, Mr. Kirkland. Erika was the one who found out. You'll meet her soon, but don't hurt her. Vash is very protective and scary."

Arthur had no idea who these people were, so he just kept quiet.

The elevator doors opened, revealing a large, white round room dotted with seven curved sliding doors. A big mahogany desk decorated with pictures of tomatoes dominated the middle of the room. A woman nearly identical to Feliciana was sitting on the leather chair behind it, looking bored as hell.

"Ve~ I just noticed that your eyebrows look like caterpillars."

"Belt up!" he snapped reflexively, then regretted it. Fortunately, Feliciana didn't seem too offended.

"Of course she's not offended," the woman said, bored. Arthur blinked. Did he say that out loud? "She's used to dealing with the potato-bastard. And no, you didn't."

… Potato bastard?

"Yeah, the damn German trying to molest my sister - "

"Lovi~!"

"Dammit, stop calling me that!" the woman yelled.

"Lovi~!" A tanned man skipped from one of the doors and leaned over the desk, smiling at the woman. "You look so cute in that red dress~! Like a tomato!"

"Idiota!" The woman punched the man in the stomach - hard. He doubled over, but his smile never left his face. "And I said stop calling me that!"

Feliciana giggled. "Aren't they cute? That's my older sister, Lovina Vargas, and the other one is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

"Ah!" Antonio, recovering from the punch, held his hand out. "Francis Bonnefoy?"

Arthur frowned disapprovingly. It sounded much too French for his liking. "No. Arthur Kirkland." He shook the hand, nevertheless.

"Very nice to meet you! Now, if you would follow me…" Antonio left the two sisters and led the Brit through one of the sliding doors, weaving through more honeycombed hallways and stopping in front of a pair of big brown double doors. Antonio gestured at the door, as if to say, "After you."

"_There's a surprise inside. Lots of people,_" one of his faeries giggled.

"Hmm." Arthur strode forward, back ramrod straight and face free from any trace of the annoyance he was feeling in an effort to give the best an impression possible.

He pushed open the doors and -

- Almost had a heart attack.

A young man, looking in his early twenties, with blond hair and sky-blue eyes jumped right in front of him - like, three centimeters in front of him - and yelled, along with around twenty more people, "Welcome, Francis Bonnefoy!"

Arthur may or may not have let out a couple of swear words.

The blond man's grin wavered. "Wait. No. Shit. That's not right. You're Arthur Kirkland."

An awkward silence.

"Welcome, Arthur Kirkland!" the blond yelled again, but without the rest of the people, who were all glaring daggers at the blonde. Arthur's first instinct was to bonk the American (for it was clear from the accent) on the head. And that was exactly what he did. "Y-You wanker! You almost gave me a heart attack! Who the flying fuck are you, anyway?"

"Oww!" The blond rubbed his head. "Is that any way to talk to your new boss?"

"Boss"?

_Making that boy the head at age seventeen… He must be 21 now..._

Well.

"Ahahaha!" the boy laughed loudly, seeing his shocked expression. "It's all good. We're like a family here; assaulting each other is like a routine. I think everyone here has hit everyone else at least one."

"_Too many odd people, and the head of the department is a twat…"_

" - and your face was totally epic!" the boy was saying. "Those caterpillars on your face looked like they suddenly gained the ability to fly - "

"Alfred!" someone hissed. And then Alfred was rubbing his head again. Arthur looked around, but saw no one near them.

"Right," Alfred mumbled. "Sorry, dude. You know, for mistaking you for Francis and stuff. So, if you can just get out so we can do this again - "

"Ve~ Mr. Bonnefoy is coming~" Feliciana skipped to the room. "I think he's bonding with Felka!"

"Everyone, get back to your positions!" Alfred yelled. Then he grabbed Arthur with what seemed like superhuman strength and dragged him in front of the table. "You, come with me. When the doors open and the other new guy comes, shout, 'Welcome, Francis Bonnefoy!' Okay?" Alfred didn't wait for an answer. He squatted in front of the door again and waited.

They didn't have to wait for long.

The door opened and Alfred jumped up, yelling, "Happy Birthday, Francis Bonnefoy!"

Several faces met their palms.

The man, wavy blond hair, blue eyes -

"You!" Arthur shrieked. He launched across the room and punched a startled Francis Bonnefoy in the face. His faeries cried out, some in alarm, most in glee. The Frenchman stumbled backwards, landing in Feliciana's arms. "Qu - Quoi?"

"You blasted frog! You stole the flash drive!" Arthur pulled back his first for another blow, but a strong hand stopped it. His faeries flew into the Englishman's face and wagged their fingers.

"Dude." It was the American. "No punching until _after_ the cake!"

"Oh, it is you, les sourcils~" Francis got to his feet, feeling his rapidly bruising check. "Why did you punch my face?"

"Because you nicked my flash drive, dammit! Because of you, my cover was blown, and I had to drive through the bleeding streets of India to get away from the fucking psychopaths and - "

"I was just doing my job, rosbif." Francis rolled his eyes. "My boss would not have been happy if I did not succeed."

"I found it first!"

"Finders keepers has no meaning in the world of intelligence."

As Arthur was sputtering, trying to come up with clever retorts without spewing out more foul language - there was a little girl in the crowd (what were children doing inside a top secret government headquarters...?), and a man carrying a scary rifle was narrowing his eyes dangerously at him - Alfred pushed the other two apart and said, "Mmkay, touching reunion over, can we eat the cake now?"

With much difficulty, Arthur suppressed his urge to beat up the French frog and looked around the room.

It was a big room, the walls made of long planks of smooth, dark wood and the occasional stone pillar. A huge fireplace dominated the far wall. Couches, armchairs, and colourful bean bag chairs littered the room, all facing the great big round table in the middle with a giant white cake that read, "WELCOME!" in blue writing. People, most of them looking young and fit, surrounded the table. Quite a few of them didn't look too happy about it.

"Sorry, not everyone's here," Alfred was saying. "Some of them are still out doing whatever they're doing, and we can't exactly pull 'em out for a welcome party - or so Ludwig says. But who cares about that, LET'S EAT THE CAKE!"

"Like, don't mind Alfred," a girl was telling Francis. "He's always hyperactive. Come on, I'll show you to the others…"

"Ve~ Mr. Kirkland - "

"Arthur," he automatically said. "It's Arthur. Or Kirkland."

"Arthur," Feliciana said, "would you like some pasta~? It's really good~"

And so the welcome party commenced.

* * *

Fifteen minutes into the welcome party, the room turned from cheerful and welcoming into something more like a wrestling cage than a lounge.

It started off innocently enough. Someone spilled a glass of water on the smooth, wooden floor. She went off to get a cloth when a drunken Greek man by the name of Heracles Karpusi stepped on the water and slipped. He bumped into an equally drunk Turkish man named Sadiq Adnan, which caused him to drop his glass of wine and spill it all over his apparently expensive shoes.

And it turned out that those two hated each other. Like, a lot.

So Arthur watched from his safe spot on an armchair as the two started a fist fight. Then it got nasty and started using their powers. Fortunately, their powers caused each other to get knocked out. Unfortunately, Heracles's power - the power to make people fall asleep - was unfocused and caused dozens of people in the room to suddenly fall asleep.

An albino man called Gilbert Beilschmidt panicked, thinking that "Holy shit, the Sandman's attacking again!" and caused the fire crackling in the fireplace to burst out of the hearth and scared the hell out of Alfred.

"FIRE DEMON!" the American shrieked. He threw a chair at the fire - and missed. It ended up hitting a (drunk) Danish man and his Norwegian companion. Needless to say, they were pissed off. The Dane pulled an axe from nowhere and swung wildly at Alfred's direction.

While this was going on, several drunken fights commenced. A Hungarian woman beating up the albino; a busty Belgian woman named Bella Dubois starting a catfight with the Polish woman, Felka Łukasiewicz; Francis Bonnefoy hiding from the Swiss man behind a giant bear that _really wasn't there before-_

Basically, it all went to hell.

The faeries were laughing at it all. Some even joined the chaos.

And Arthur was thinking _This is who I'm going to have to work with from now on? Insane people gifted - no, _armed_ with dangerous powers - oh, sweet Elizabeth, please kill me now…_

"Sorry about that."

Arthur whipped his head around. No one was near him. He could have sworn he heard someone -

"I know this is your first day, but you should get used to it. Things like this always happen around here. Monsieur Bonnefoy seems to be fitting in. Hiding is exactly what one should do when faced with Vash's rifle - which is kind of hard, considering that Mr. Zwingli can see through _anything_…"

"Where are you!" Arthur yelled, freaking out at the voice.

"Behind you."

He turned, but no one was there.

A light chuckle, and then a shimmering in the air. Arthur squinted. Eventually, the shimmer in the air settled and revealed a blonde girl, no older than eighteen, standing there holding a stuffed polar bear.

Faerie sight, healing, sleeping powers, pyrokinesis, axes, rifles, bears that appeared out of nowhere - oh, let's add invisibility to the list!

"And mind-reading," Lovina yelled while running after her sister, who was running after a blonde German, who was running after the albino pyromaniac.

"Lovina can read minds," the invisible blonde girl confirmed.

"Mind reading," Arthur repeated. Yes, he had read the file. Yes, he knew that the people in this department all had special powers (like himself), but seeing it for himself -

Another giant bear appeared.

Arthur blinked, and rubbed his eyes.

Still there. Maybe he was going bonkers.

His faeries laughed. They flew up to the bear and - through it?

"That would be Monsieur Bonnefoy," the girl murmured. "According to Erika, he can create visual illusions, but he is still not strong enough to create _true_ illusions."

"The frog can create illusions?" Arthur mumbled to himself. It seemed like everyone's abilities were more useful than his. He could only see faeries; what was useful about that?"

"Erika said that yours isn't fully developed either," the girl continued. "Eventually, you're going to be able to harness the faeries' powers and cast your own spells."

Arthur scowled at the girl. "Are you a mind reader too?"

"No, just perceptive."

"Perceptive," the polar bear echoed - wait, did it just talk? Before Arthur could processes this, someone let out a very girly shriek and ran past them.

"Kolkolkol~" A huge Russian man passed by them, chasing after a Chinese woman, who was chasing after Alfred, who was chasing after - an alien?

The girl paled. "I - I'm gonna go now." She started to disappear.

"Wait!" But the girl was gone.

"Get back here, Tony - Oh, hey Artie!" Alfred yelled. He tackled the alien and wrapped his arms around the extraterrestrial.

"Don't call me that, you git!" Arthur snapped at him. The Chinese woman was still running from the Russian man.

"So anyway, this is Tony." He got to his feet and held out the struggling alien. Tony glared at Arthur with hostile eyes. "Say hello!"

"Fuck off, limey!" Tony snarled.

"Excuse me?!" Arthur was offended.

"It's because you're English," Alfred explained. "One of his cousins was once captured by this English guy called Fred. Took him four years to escape from imprisonment.

"Perchance you can explain why you felt the need to introduce me to him, then?"

Alfred shrugged. "Just 'cause. So, care to explain those eyebrows?"

"Why you - !"

"Hey, is that my jacket?"

"Yes, Harris wanted me to return it to you - "

"Alfred, get your ass over here and help me - aru!" the Chinese woman shrieked.

They both looked over. The Russian was poking at a short, fifteen year-old, his hands on the boy's head and whispering sinister-sounding words in Russian. The Chinese woman was trying to drag the Russian away.

"Hey! No bullying Raivis in the lounge!" Alfred snatched the jacket from Arthur, threw a quick "thanks!" to the Brit, and headed over to intervene.

And so Arthur was left sitting in his armchair with a foul-mouthed alien for company.

* * *

**Translations:**

Idiota (Italian) - Idiot  
Quoi? (French) - What?  
Les sourcils (French) - Eyebrows  
[Le] rosbif (French) - Roast beef

* * *

I hope Arthur's real personality is starting to show. If not, then I will have to resort to Plan Z: somehow lock him up in a room with Alfred and Francis. Hehe.**  
**


	3. The Faerie Queen I: A Missing Queen

Thanks again to **Tortugas-and-Lovi** for editing this chapter!

**disclaimer:** still no.

**warnings:** clichés, language, bad writing, and fail!Scottish accents.

* * *

**Chapter 3  
A Missing Queen  
[The Faerie Queen I]**

* * *

Arthur awoke to the beautiful sounds of chirping birds and loud curses.

"Kesese, be more careful, Roddy~"

"If you don't shut up _right now_ - "

"Quiet! I think he's awake!"

Silence.

Arthur opened his eyes. He didn't try to feign sleep. What was the point if they already knew he was awake? Instead, he carefully reached for the small pebble he always kept under his white pillow and threw it at one of the intruders. Not looking to see if it hit, he jumped out of bed and reached for his gun (he had a license, thank you very much). He pointed it at the three intruders. His faeries woke up at the sounds and hovered behind him. They did not seem too alarmed.

One of the intruders was a bespectacled, brown-haired man with a beauty mark on his chin. He wore a slightly old fashioned attire of fancy black pants, a blue coat, and a shirt with a sort-of cravat on the neckline. The other two - a woman wielding a frying pan and an albino man with red eyes - looked vaguely familiar. Where had he seen them?

… They were his co-workers. They were fighting last night. The woman had won.

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?" Arthur snarled. He glanced at the clock. "It's four in the fucking morning!"

The woman stepped up. Arthur turned his gun on her, and she backed off quickly. "Drop the frying pan."

She narrowed her eyes. Arthur felt a strange sort of foreboding crawl along his spine. _Do not mess with me_, the look said. "Arthur Kirkland, yes? You look like the man from yesterday. Gilbert, if this isn't the man, I swear to God I will hit your head so hard - "

"It's him!" the albino - Gilbert - insisted. "I recognise the eyebrows."

"Oi!" Arthur said loudly.

The bespectacled man cleared his throat. He glanced at Gilbert as if he was ashamed to be within five feet of him. "We're very sorry, but you need to come with us right now. We have a job - "

"Mission!" Gilbert interrupted.

" - for you," he completed, glaring at the red-eyed man.

Arthur glanced at the clock again. 4:01 am. Saturday. He only had four hours of sleep. Then again, he could work with less sleep than this. And he was used to waking up at odd hours of the night for an "extremely important mission" that could "save the lives of, like, seven people, Arthur!"

Why did he accept the promotion again?

A faerie poked his cheek. "_Because you wanted to meet other people like you._"

"Pack lightly," the Hungarian woman added.

* * *

"'Kay! Artie!" Alfred was much too alert for someone who looked like they just got out of bed. He was dressed in a black graphic t-shirt, a pair of pajama pants, and his hair was mussed to the point where it was even messier than Arthur's.

They were in the lounge. The poor bloke responsible for cleaning up after the party had done a fantastic job; the room was virtually spotless. There was no sign that a wild party had just taken place a few hours before. Beside him and Alfred, only one other person was in the room, and it was none other than the blasted frog, Francis Bonnefoy.

Arthur did his best to ignore him.

Alfred said that he had an office, but he didn't use it much. He preferred giving people orders (him giving out orders was both laughable and scary, like a five-year-old giving out orders to an entire regiment of soldiers) in the in person.

"Why am I here?" Arthur asked him flatly. Last night, he had seen many people treat Alfred, the head of the department, as an equal (or less). He didn't seem to mind. And if Alfred wanted to treat him like his family, then he was going to get the same treatment from Arthur.

Except, you know, Arthur didn't particularly like his family.

He didn't like Alfred either.

So.

"It's four in the morning," Alfred said, "an' I wanna leave ASAP, so I'm going to make this quick." He passed Arthur and Francis some plane tickets. "Our plane leaves in three hours. Erika said you can see faeries, so I thought this was perfect for you. We're going to go to Scotland - "

Arthur grimaced.

" - to speak to the Faerie Queen. None of your brothers are back from wherever they are, so this is up to you."

"My brothers work here?" Arthur said in disbelief.

"Yep. Can talk to faeries too, but anyways. Mischievous faerie activity's been spotted in the towns surrounding their forest habitat. Faeries are naturally mischievous, yeah, but reports of potentially-deadly faerie activity are increasing in an alarming rate. Like, bricks almost hitting an old man; a four-year-old kid 'accidentally' falling into a pond; 'mysterious' fires starting in the middle of the night. It's not funny anymore, it's dangerous. So you have to talk to the Faerie Queen and convince her to make it stop or something."

Arthur mumbled a few obscenities under his breath - talk to the Faerie Queen? Did he expect him to juts waltz up to the Queen and tell her, "_Excuse me, Your Majesty, but your faeries are at risk of becoming murderers, so if you would kindly rein them in and put them in a faerie prison, that would be swell…_"

"So why am I here?" Francis questioned. "I cannot see faeries."

"Because you can create illusions. For some reason, the faeries are refusing to let anyone enter their forest kingdom - like, to the point where they'll attack you if you try to get inside; and the guards are more vigilant than ever. According to reports, they won't listen to what anyone says." Alfred smirked. "To get past them, we're going to need a distraction."

"Ah!" Francis caught on. "You want me to distract them using illusions?"

"Yep. And it'd be a good chance for me to see what you guys can do."

Brilliant. Going to Scotland in the company of a French bastard and an American idiot in order to command the Faerie Queen to do something about her troublesome, murderous faeries. A dream come true. His eyebrows furrowed together in displeasure, so close that they looked like a uni-brow.

"Les sourcils, tes sourcils are about to make love, I think."

You can guess what happened next.

Arthur jumped at the Frenchman. Francis shrieked and tumbled over, bumping into a small table with a vase of flowers. The vase toppled over, spilling its contents onto a very surprised Francis.

"Mes vetements!"

Alfred intervened and pulled Arthur away from Francis, but Francis was not about to take the attack lying down. Francis launched himself at Arthur and poured the rest of the vase's contents over the Brit's head, who spluttered incoherently and wriggled free from Alfred's arms and started a mini war with Francis right then and there.

And Alfred, looking at the two clashing men, decided that he needed someone sane with him, if only to help keep those two from murdering each other before they finished the mission.

* * *

Alfred flicked the light switch of his sister's room, illuminating the small, red and white bedroom. He silently tiptoed to the edge of the red bed and poked the sleeping blonde.

"Hey, Maddie~"

"Mmm…" She shifted, burrowing deeper into her pillows. The polar bear curled beside the sleeping girl lifted her snout. She let out a little yawn before going back to sleep.

"Madeline~"

"What do you want?" she mumbled blearily. She cracked one purple eye open to glare at her brother.

"Wanna go to Scotland?"

"Go away."

"That's exactly what we're going to do."

"Alfred…"

"I need help. The new guys don't get along."

"Go. Away."

"I need you to help me keep them from killing each other."

"Get Vash to do it."

"He left for Switzerland right after the party, remember?"

Madeline groaned. "Spring Break ends in four days."

"It'll only be for three days," Alfred promised.

"And what if something goes wrong?"

"If we get held up, I'm sure Dad'll write you a note."

Another groan. "Al…"

"Please!"

"… Fine."

* * *

"Hey, guys, we have a fourth member!"

"B - Bonjour…"

"Ah! Parles-tu français~?"

"Oh great, another French - "

"Eep!"

"Back off, Frenchie!"

"Oh, bloody hell…"

* * *

They were on the plane to Scotland.

All four of the agents sat together, with Alfred and Madeline sitting in the center of the group to prevent a fight from breaking out. Arthur and Francis seemed content with the arrangement. Arthur was looking out of the window; Alfred was playing Plants Versus Zombies on his iPod; Madeline was sleeping with her bear (she somehow convinced the airport security that the thing was a stuffed toy); and Francis was totally engrossed in a French fashion magazine, occasionally letting out a couple of French comments.

Arthur fiddled with his hands. He should have brought a book. The plane was not showing a movie due to a group of very persistent mothers complaining that it was not "kid-friendly", so he was stuck staring out the window and daydreaming of ways to make this trip to Scotland as enjoyable as possible.

It was harder than he thought.

* * *

"I'm driving!"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Al."

"Why not?"

"Because - Al, don't!"

"Git!"

"Merde!"

"Whaat?"

"We drive on the other side of the road, you tosser!"

* * *

They checked into an old hotel - more like an inn, really - and, after exploring the town a little, went to bed. All of them were tired and lacking sleep, so there were no complaints when Alfred proposed getting to bed early.

"We'll be trekking through the forest tomorrow, so get some sleep!"

It was eight p.m. Arthur was on his way downstairs to get some food when he bumped into a very familiar redhead.

"Dammit."

"Guid tae see ye tae, Artair," Alistair Kirkland said dryly. "Takin' a vacation in guid ol' Scotland? Thought ye hated the place."

Arthur scowled. "Sod off, Alistair. I'm here on business."

"APH?"

"Wha - How did you know?" He was only transferred yesterday!

"They've been keepin' an eye on ye for a long time now. I figured any day now, Special Ops'll kick ye out, just like the rest o' us."

"I don't have time for this." Arthur made to move past his brother, but Alistair grabbed his sweater and said, "There's a reason we didn't help ye with yer powers."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Ye thought we neglected ye."

"Piss off - "

"We may nae be the best brothars in the world, Artair, but we dinnae wan' tae see ye die," Alistair said softly. "I'm gaein' tae assume yer here because o' the situation wi' the Faerie Queen."

"What situa - "

"Room 21 in fifteen minutes," Alistair continued, ignoring his brother. "Ye work in APH now, so ye need tae learn how tae control tha' magic o' yers if ye wan' tae survive." Alistair didn't wait for a response; he continued to trudge up the stairs and, soon enough, Arthur heard the faint crash of a door slamming shut.

"Control my powers," he muttered to himself.

"_You should listen to him_," a male faerie told him. "_Your magical reserves are opening up; you need to know how to control it._"

"… Fine."

* * *

"Clear yer mind."

"It's clear. What are you doing in Scotland, anyway?"

"Huntin' daen an insane werewolf. Happened tae pass by, saw the trouble, an' stopped to sen' a report tae Alfred. I'm takin' off tomorrow. Now, stop askin' questions and clear yer blasted head."

"It's clear."

"Isna."

"It's clear, what next?"

"Artair, we cannae dae this wi'out a clear mind."

"How am I supposed to clear my mind with you yakking the whole time?"

A sigh was heard.

* * *

Francis watched in awe as Alfred wolfed down plate after plate of breakfast foods. Eggs, bacons, sausages, toast - all had the same fate.

"Mon Dieu…"

"It takes a while to get used to," Madeline said from her plate of pancakes. She tasted a dip of syrup before making a face. "Fake."

"I wonder where Arthur is," Francis mused, delicately taking a bite of his croissant. "I saw him go into another man's room… Do you think-"

"No dirty talk during breakfast," Alfred interrupted.

Francis pouted.

Just then, British curses floated down the staircase. Arthur stumbled onto the dining room, clothes rumbled and hair messier than usual. "I have news," he mumbled.

"Artie~!" Alfred waved him over. "What's up?"

"Stop calling me that," Arthur said automatically. "And we can't talk to the Faerie Queen. She's missing."

Seeing their confused looks, Arthur said, "My brother told me that the Faerie Queen has been missing for two weeks."

"Which one?" Alfred asked.

"Alistair."

"Oh yeah," Alfred remembered. "He was the one that sent in the reports. And hunting down that werewolf."

Arthur continued, "The Faerie King is furious and, as a result, not thinking properly. He thinks that the humans kidnapped the Queen and sent his faeries to search for her in the town. Soon, the faeries grew frustrated, started to take it out on the humans, causing mayhem everywhere. Alistair tried to talk to the King, but he absolutely won't listen to reason. He reckons that the only way to stop it is to find the Queen and return her to the kingdom. He would have searched for her himself if he was not busy with the werewolf."

"So we have to find a missing Faerie Queen that none of us except Arthur can see," Alfred summarised. "Maddie, I don't think you'll be back in time for school."

She glared at him.

Francis rested his chin on a hand, looking contemplative. "This raises the question: how are we supposed to look for something we cannot see? I doubt les sourcils will be able to look for the Queen on his own."

"Alistair thought of that as well," said Arthur. "At least, partly. Before he left this morning, he gave me this." He took a picture out of his pocket and slid it to the others. It depicted the face of a plain-faced girl with short brown hair and green eyes. On the back of the picture were some notes in Alistair's lazy scrawl:

_Taska Laurinaitis_

_Gender: Female.  
Age: 25  
Date of Birth: February 16th  
Hair Colour: Brown  
Eye Colour: Green  
Father: Unknown, Lithuanian.  
Mother: Unknown, Lithuanian.  
Special Ability: Tracking_

_FIND HER. _

* * *

**Translations:**

Les sourcils, tes sourcils... (French) - Eyebrows, your eyebrows...  
Mes vetements! (French) - My clothes!  
Bonjour (French) - Hello  
Parles-tu français? (French) - You speak French?  
Merde! (French) - Shit!  
Mon Dieu... (French) - My God...

* * *

And here comes fem!Lithuania. So hey, I'm slowly teaching you guys how to speak French. If you happen to pass by France or Belgium or Québec, remember that an extremely small portion of that knowledge came from me. Also... **Back stories for characters in between story arcs:** Yes or No?

And guys, reviews make me happy ;) Like, a lot.


	4. The Faerie Queen II: Taska Laurinaitis

Many thanks to **Tortugas-and-Lovi** for editing this chapter :)

**disclaimer:** be smart.

**warnings:** clichés, bad writing, foul language (I'm not sure if there are any in this chapter, actually), fail!Scottish accent, and... this is a **boring chapter**, guys.

* * *

**Chapter 4  
Taska Laurinaitis  
[The Faerie Queen II]**

* * *

"So how do look for this Taska chick? Says here she's Lithuanian so we need to book a flight to Lithuania - wherever that is - but it's probably a big place and we'd probably need to get more people to search - "

"Twit," Arthur muttered, "we don't need to go anywhere. Taska Laurinaitis lives in this town."

"And how would you know?" Alfred challenged.

"Alistair told me."

"Oh. I knew that."

"But he doesn't know where she lives."

"That sucks. So we're gonna go with the obvious solution?" Alfred asked. "Like, split up and stuff?"

"You're the leader," Arthur huffed sourly. "You decide."

Alfred chuckled. "Yeah, I am, aren't I? 'Kay, Artie, you take the west side of the town, Francis, you take east, Maddie, you take north, and I'll take south. Kapeesh?"

* * *

"Stupid wanker," Arthur snarled to himself, sidestepping a drunken man and his passed out friend. "He did this on purpose."

"Aye," another pot-bellied drunk slurred, leaning against a pole, "He is a stupid wanker."

"Shut up," Arthur snapped.

"Shut up," he echoed. He leaned over and barfed on the ground.

"He did this on purpose," Arthur repeated.

Sending him to this part of the town, the part where all the cheap pubs catered to lazy drunks - damn that American…

* * *

"Oh Danny boy!" Alfred sang, off-key. "The pipes, the pipes are calling!"

The taxi driver winced.

Alfred was totally the most productive out of all of them. Really.

"The summer's gone, and all the flow'rs are dying!"

He had paid the taxi driver to drive around his part of the town and showed him Taska Laurinaitis's picture.

"Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow!"

Two pairs of eyes were better than one, he always said.

"I pray you'll find the place where I am lying!"

(Okay, so Alfred only glanced out of the window like every fifteen seconds.)

"And all my grave will warm and sweeter be!"

(And he may have forgotten what she looked like in the first place.)

"And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!"

(And he may have been playing Final Fantasy on his iPod most of the time.)

"How was that?" Alfred asked the taxi driver, still not looking up from his iPod. "Awesome Scottish song, right?"

"… It's Irish."

"Same thing."

(And he may or may not have missed Taska Laurinaitis walking past the taxi just a few seconds ago.)

* * *

Madeline, meanwhile, was having a grand old time in the suburbs, trespassing and breaking into houses - without getting caught.

Her favourite pastime.

(She would never admit that to anyone, of course.)

She slipped through the walls of a pastel-coloured duplex and entered the living room. It had a homey feeling to it, with overstuffed couches, scattered magazines on the coffee table, and several toys on the carpeted floor. The sliding door leading to the kitchen was open, and the smell of baking banana cakes wafted to the living room. There was no one in the house, except for the cat.

And what an adorable cat it was.

She quietly approached the feline sleeping on the couch and willed herself to become visible. The cat opened one eye. "Hey there." Madeline stroked the little tabby thing.

It mewed.

"Aw."

A car screeched into the driveway. Correctly assuming that those were the owners, she made herself invisible and stepped through the wall separating the apartments. She found herself in another living room.

But this time with two female occupants.

Who were doing rather nasty and, um, inappropriate things on the couch.

A small, embarrassed squeak escaped from Madeline's furiously blushing face.

* * *

Francis (who would have loved to be in Madeline's place right now) was not having as much fun as the others.

He was currently stuck in a grocery shop with a pretty but talkative English mother who _would not shut up about her daughter._

" - and she has violin lessons," she rattled off. "She has the cutest little expression whenever she plays her little violin, puts tears in an old mother's heart, that does. And her ballet instructor says that my little angel is the best dancer in her class and…"

How did he get stuck with her in the first place?

The answer was simple.

He was chatting up the women around the grocery shop, asking if they knew where Taska Laurinaitis lived and simultaneously flirting with them (and receiving quite a few phone numbers for his efforts), when he bumped into the pretty English mother. Not missing a beat, he complemented her shoes (hideous, they were), and struck up a conversation.

But he could not, for the life of him, make her stop talking long enough for him to ask questions.

And he couldn't just interrupt her…

" - bought her a doll," the woman continued. "And she and her cousin played together that weekend - it was so adorable! - and my sister, well, she was so happy that her daughter found someone to talk to - "

Well, time to make a distraction.

He discreetly glanced at the woman's (hideous) shoes and imagined a large spider crawling up the shoe.

" - we made cake together just last week - "

"Oh dear!" Francis interrupted. "Is that a spider?"

The woman glanced down at the big, hairy spider and, after a beat of pause, shrieked.

Francis took that opportunity to run away.

* * *

It was seven at night, and Arthur was ready to call it quits. He was sick of dealing with Scottish drunks.

But first, he needed to get drunk. Bad.

He looked around, picked a clean-looking pub, and entered. The pub was small, but well-kept. Newspaper clippings hung on the walls, and several wooden tables were scattered around the room. A burly bartender with an impressive beard was cleaning glasses behind the sleek counter. He looked up as Arthur approached.

"May I help ye?" the bartender asked gruffly.

Well, he seemed like a nice bloke. Arthur showed him Taska Laurinaitis's picture. "Have you seen this girl?"

The bartender glanced at it. "Aye. Taska Laurinaitis."

"Oh, thank you for you ti - Wait, what?"

"Tha's Taska Laurinaitis," the bartender repeated. "Th' lass works here."

"Really?" He couldn't believe his luck.

"Aye. She's on her break, but she'll be back saen."

"Really?"

"Aye," the bartender said, getting annoyed. "If ye wanna wait fo' her here, tha's fine. But ye gotta buy somethin'."

Arthur, deciding to wait for the woman, sat down on a bar stool and said, "I'll have a Newcastle Brown."

The bartender snorted. He poured a mug of ale for Arthur. "There ye go."

"Much appreciated."

"So," the bartender started casually after a moment of silence, "why're ye lookin' fo' Taska?"

"No reason," Arthur said evenly. He pointedly looked away and watched the door.

The bartender rolled his eyes. He muttered something about "bampots with huge eyebrows" and turned away.

Arthur paid him no mind.

Fifteen minutes and a mug of ale later, the door opened and in ran the woman he had been searching for.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Taska said breathlessly, looking slightly nervous. "There was this man, and he wouldn't leave me alone, and he said he needed me, and he was French - "

"S'fine," the bartender said, waving a hand. "C'mere, this man said he was lookin' fo' ye."

Taska looked at Arthur uneasily. "Sir?"

Arthur stood up and held out a hand. "I am Arthur Kirkland, and I believe we need to talk about something." He instantly regretted his choice of words.

"Am I in trouble, sir?" She was alarmed. First, the French man, and now him…

"You're not in trouble," Arthur said hastily. "But… We believe that you can be of help to us." He sent a questioning look at the bartender. "May I talk to her for a bit?"

The bartender shrugged. "Take the whole shift. S'gonna be slow t'day, anyway."

* * *

"_Let's leave her here…"_

"_Taip."_

* * *

"_Ye useless girl… Nae wunder yer parents abandoned ye!"_

"_I - I'm sorry…"_

"_Nae'n likes ye!"_

* * *

"What can I do for you, Mister Kirkland?" Taska asked softly. After all these years of living in Scotland, she still kept her Lithuanian accent.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. This girl looked ready to break down (stupid frog…), and he wasn't exactly the best at informing others of… delicate information.

Yes, she looked ready to break down. But there was something in her eyes… Behind the façade of introversion and anxiety, something screamed, "I have a hidden badass side and you better not mess with me! Bitch!"

(Well. She did know martial arts.)

Arthur decided to wait for the others. Speaking of which -

"Good job, Artie!" Alfred burst through the doors, dragging his two other companions with him. He waved at the bartender, who ignored him, and sat down beside Arthur and leaned over to the Lithuanian. "Hey, I'm Alfred F. Jones - the Hero!" Arthur could practically hear the capital "H".

Alfred gestured at the other two. "This is my sidekick and sister, Maddie, and the Frenchie over there is Francis."

Francis wrinkled his nose at the inelegant introduction. "Hmph."

Taska stared at Francis. "Y - You."

"Bonjour, ma chérie. Why did you run away from me?"

Arthur snorted. Who wouldn't run from a French creep who said, "I need you!" Everything that came out of that frog's mouth sounded perverted, even when he didn't mean to be…

Taska shook her head and said nothing.

"Okay~" Alfred said happily. "So. Taska. You can track stuff, right? Wanna go look for a Faerie Queen?"

The poor girl looked at the American in bewilderment. "E - Excuse me?"

"You know, go all Manhunter on the Faerie Queen, stop her possibly murderous subjects, et cetera?"

Arthur wanted to face palm.

Taska looked even more lost.

"Ignore the twit," Arthur muttered. "He's not right in the head."

"Hey!"

Francis ignored the other two and told Taska, "What mes amis means to say is, would you like to come with us to search for a missing faerie? And perhaps, after that, visit my room - "

"FROG!" Arthur slapped him upside the head. "For Pete's sake, she's older than you!"

The two started to bicker. Alfred jumped in when the subject of nationality was brought up. ("Oh please, everyone knows that British cooking is classified as a weapon of mass destruction!" "Shut up, as if your horrid snails are any better!" "Guys, you're both right. Now can we all agree that McDonalds is the best food ever and - " "NO!")

Madeline, seeing as she was the only sane person in the group, scooted closer to Taska, and quietly explained to the confused woman what the others were talking about. Taska nodded quietly as Madeline talked, seeming to take it very calmly.

"So," Taska said slowly after Madeline finished, "these f - faeries have been causing the trouble lately… and they do that because they are missing their Queen… and you think I have the power to track her down?"

"Yes."

Taska rubbed her forehead, still ignoring the bickering men beside them. "I - I guess that makes sense… Ever since I turned fourteen, I've been having strange visions - just a flash, and it's always whenever I want to find something I lost. The thing I'm looking for is always shown in the vision, and when I check, it's there!" Taska shook her head. "I thought it was just me remembering where I left it, but…" she trailed off.

Madeline processed this information. Fourteen was about the age where "normal special people" (meaning: people who weren't born knowing about this kind of stuff. Those who were tended to access their powers earlier) begin to discover their powers. _I wonder…_

"Double cheese burger totally beats your wimpy cross-ants or whatever!" Alfred's loud voice brought her out of her thoughts.

"Croissants," Francis corrected.

Arthur snorted. "Buttery lumps of flour and undercooked meat with processed cheese in between bread? I think I can safely say that my scones trump your dishes."

Madeline decided to continue ignoring the others. Yes, she knew that Alfred brought her with them to help keep Arthur and Francis from killing each other, but she just did not have the energy to be the peacekeeper between Arthur, Francis, _and_ Alfred.

"Miss… Madeline?" Taska asked.

"Oui?"

"So you are here to ask for my help… and you want me to go with you?"

"Yes."

"But I do not know what this Faerie Queen looks like, and, from my experiences, my power only works if I know what the thing I am looking for looks like. And you said that out of the four of you, only Mister Arthur could see faeries."

"Oh," Madeline realised. "That _is_ a problem."

* * *

**Translations:**

Taip (Lithuanian) - Yes

Bonjour, ma chérie (French) - Hello, my dear.

mes amis (French) - my friends

* * *

This is going slower than I like, but hopefully it'll pick up in the next chapter. Also, I have become fond of short scenes. Like, a few description paragraphs here, several lines of dialogue there, bam! End of scene, break, start next scene. It tells a lot, and it saves a lot of time writing out chapters.  
Don't forget to review, guys~!


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